


stop worrying and love

by mixtapestar



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Depression, M/M, Mosaic Timeline (The Magicians: A Life in the Day), Polyamory Negotiations, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Eliot's journey from 'we're just hooking up' to 'oh shit I'm in love' over his and Quentin's second year in the mosaic timeline.
Relationships: Arielle & Eliot Waugh, Arielle/Quentin Coldwater, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 28
Kudos: 145





	stop worrying and love

**Author's Note:**

> I watched The Magicians in its entirety for the first time in June, then immediately started working on this fic. I fell in love with these losers and just had to write about their love. This is my first Magicians fic, but with more to come.
> 
> Huge thanks to my support groups as this story came along - picowrimo for providing daily support as I checked in with word counts and snippets, alittleoblivion for the life-affirming cheerleading, notalonehere for the charity drive where I found my beta reader and was assured there was an active audience for this story, and thoughtsappear for the thorough beta read! <3

The first time Quentin kisses Eliot, after they toast to their first year of the mosaic, Eliot isn’t quite sure that it’s real. Even as he goes to reciprocate, hand sliding over Quentin’s on the quilt and lips fitting smoothly over Quentin’s, he thinks he’s going to wake up at any moment, in his bed across the room from Quentin’s, with a raging hard-on he’ll have to find a way to get rid of discreetly. Still, even if it is a dream, Eliot decides he’s going to enjoy it.

But Quentin is so shy yet determined, especially once Eliot makes it clear he’s on board, it can’t be anything but real. The sound Quentin makes when Eliot bites gently into his lower lip is unique, like nothing his imagination has ever come up with before.

It's easy enough to go with it. Make out first, ask questions later. It's been a year without companionship, and Quentin is so pliant against him. And if the way Quentin is pawing at him is any indication, this turn of events wasn't just a spur of the moment experiment. Or at least not one that was supposed to end with a single kiss.

Quentin keeps getting closer to being in Eliot's lap, pulling at his shirt until Eliot straightens up long enough to say, "Careful with the threads. There's literally only five of them left."

"Right, sorry," Quentin says, letting him go and starting to back up until Eliot stops him with hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, I didn't say go anywhere," Eliot says. Relief washes through Q's expression before he dives back into the kiss, doubling down on his enthusiasm.

Eliot's coasting on a low thrum of arousal, so it doesn't quite click that Quentin's sliding a hand up his thigh until he feels fingers brushing against his clothed cock. He breaks the kiss to stare at Quentin's questing hand, then up at Quentin's intent look.

"Yeah?" Quentin asks, licking his lips absently.

"Fuck yeah," Eliot agrees.

They move inside to Quentin’s bed, loosening clothes with frantic touches. All worked up with just their hands, Quentin whines that they should stop cause he wants to suck Eliot off, and as tempting as that sounds, Eliot knows he’s not going to last much longer. “Next time,” he promises, only second guessing himself for a moment before Quentin moans and says, “ _yes_ , next time,” with so much enthusiasm that it gets Eliot that much closer to the edge.

“Kiss me,” Quentin says, almost but not quite a question. Eliot does, even though he’s hesitant to cover up the little gasps and moans Quentin has been making. It’s the right call, because Quentin gets no quieter, but his clever tongue moves against Eliot’s to suggest so much more. It’s enough to tip Eliot over into orgasm, moaning at the intensity of it and working his hand to bring Quentin along with him until they’re both panting, open-mouthed, against each other’s lips.

Eliot goes back to kissing him as their desperation fades to a nice, lazy give-and-take. What's left of their clothing gets tossed to the floor as they get settled. Quentin makes a tiny noise of loss when he pulls away, but Eliot quickly mutters, "Be right back."

He digs out a vial of rosewater and withdraws the smallest drop for Lucier's Cleaning Charm, using it to clean them up as he gets back into bed with Quentin.

"Mm, convenient," Quentin murmurs. He slots a leg between Eliot's and presses kisses along his chest up to his neck before resting his head there.

"I knew you were a cuddler," Eliot says, wrapping an arm around Quentin to take on his weight as he shifts to lay on his back.

"Takes one to know one," Quentin says without argument, tossing an arm over Eliot's middle.

"I like to be close to people." Quentin lifts his head to raise an eyebrow at him. "Some people."

Quentin cracks a smile and presses a kiss to his chin before settling back in.

Eliot waits for his thoughts to start getting away from him, but before that can happen his eyes start closing.

***

Eliot wakes up in the middle of the night, as he’s done nearly every night since they arrived, surprised for only a moment to find himself in bed with someone. It all comes rushing back quickly, leaving him with a warm, fuzzy feeling he usually associates with just the right amount of alcohol.

The feeling doesn’t last long, though, as he starts wondering if he’s supposed to extract himself and go back to his own bed. They’d agreed on a next time, right? That was what that was? But ‘next time’ could be weeks, months, even another year from now. They hadn’t exactly been in the right place to discuss terms.

They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, though, and that wasn’t nothing. Quentin looks so peaceful in his sleep, and when Eliot brushes his hair back from his face, he swears a smile ghosts its way across Quentin’s face.

Eliot tells his brain to shut the fuck up and goes back to sleep.

The next time Eliot wakes up, it’s morning, and even though he can feel Quentin lying still next to him, he can tell he’s awake. He peeks open one eye to find Quentin propped up on an elbow, smiling down at him, and then he shuts it again.

“Why are you watching me sleep, you creep?” Eliot mutters, pleased when it gets him a lighthearted laugh in response.

“I was waiting for you to wake up so I could do this,” Quentin says, then Eliot feels a soft exhale against his lips in a second’s warning before Quentin kisses him.

“You are insatiable,” Eliot says, pleased, when it’s clear they’re on their way to more than just kissing, if the placement of Quentin's hand is anything to go on. Eliot fits his hands over Quentin’s hips and nudges him until Quentin is hovering above him on the bed.

“I’ve saved up a lot of good ideas over the past year,” Quentin says, and moves in to kiss him again, missing the surprised look that Eliot can feel written all over his face.

He’s schooled his expression by the time Quentin pulls away again. “Lucky me,” he says, a little thrill going through him at Quentin’s answering smile.

“I think I’ll start with the one I mentioned last night, though,” Quentin says, his hand stirring where it’s been casually resting at the base of Eliot’s dick. There’s no way he can miss the way Eliot’s dick twitches at the thought.

Eliot shifts up to tell Quentin in a kiss how good of an idea he finds this. “Put that beautiful mouth on me,” he adds, sitting up a little while Quentin moves down his body, leaving kisses along the way.

It reminds Eliot of their hookup with Margo back at Brakebills, though that incident was in very different circumstances. He’s only ever half-remembered that night, though the moans Quentin is making around his cock are pinging memories he didn’t know he had. He’s grateful this time for being completely unencumbered, so he can remember every detail.

Like the way Quentin builds up a rhythm, moving over Eliot’s cock hot and heavy until it’s almost too much, and then somehow knowing and shifting to slow and smooth to draw out the pleasure. Quentin gives head like his mouth was made for it, more talent than skill, but Eliot can only imagine what a little more practice would bring. Not to mention that it’s clearly doing something for Quentin at the same time, if the filthy moans and movements against the bed are anything to go on.

Eliot mutters words of encouragement, slotting his fingers into Quentin’s hair, and Quentin tilts his head into the touch with a hum of pleasure. "You like that, huh?"

Eliot warns him when he’s close and Quentin eases up just enough to concentrate on the head of his cock until he comes, first in Quentin’s mouth then across his chest as he pulls off and moves up.

Quentin kisses him as intensely as he’d just been sucking him, and it’s a glorious accompaniment to his aftershocks. Quentin’s dick is slick with precome and sliding against Eliot’s hip. Eliot reaches for him, circling his hand lazily around Quentin’s erection and about to ask what he wants when Quentin shouts and starts coming from that slight touch. Eliot tightens his fist and gives him something to work with, but mostly he just stares open-mouthed at Quentin falling apart from, basically, giving Eliot some of the best head of his life.

"You are a wonder," Eliot tells him, continuing to work at Quentin's cock until he whimpers into their kiss.

They have a nice, lazy come down, but eventually by unspoken agreement they get up to go back to work on the puzzle.

Eliot wants to think that they're working in comfortable silence, but really he’s just waiting for Quentin to voice his regrets.

So when Quentin goes, “Hey, so, um,” Eliot takes in his expression, still a little blissful and never dimming, and says, “Let’s just save our overthinking for the puzzle, yeah?”

Quentin’s agreement is the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. He’s happy to keep hooking up for as long as Quentin will have him.

***

They don’t do anything further for a few days, but Eliot catches Quentin looking at him like he’s thinking about it a couple of times. He tries not to peacock out, but he definitely puts on a bit of a show, knowing he has an audience.

While he’s running on autopilot, placing tiles, he thinks about Quentin’s supposed year of ideas, and comes up with a few of his own. For all that Quentin seemed to enjoy their night (and morning) of passion, Eliot wants the next time to be really good for him. He’d been a little too surprised the first time to slow down and focus on Quentin’s pleasure, and he intends to make up for it.

Apparently he's not as subtle as he'd like to believe, because Quentin eventually asks him, “What’s got you so distracted today?”

Eliot smirks at him, letting his eyes drift over Quentin’s body and imagining all the places he can touch to make Quentin squirm.

“Oh! Um,” Quentin says, a beautiful flush spreading over his cheeks.

“Take a break?”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Quentin answers, and Eliot leads the way inside the cottage.

Eliot gets Quentin to strip while he stays clothed, has him stay still while he sucks at his nipples, licks his way down Quentin's body, until Quentin's whimpering, "Eliot, please."

"Shh, don't rush it. Today you're getting the full Eliot Waugh experience."

He eventually sinks his mouth down on Quentin's cock, then starts teasing at his hole. He pulls back to do a series of gestures against his wrist until his fingers are wet enough to slip inside. 

"Thought you might like that," Eliot says at Quentin's gasp.

"Jesus fuck," Quentin whimpers, his hands fisting in the sheets. He writhes under Eliot's ministrations, his mouth running constantly, repeating things like Eliot's name and "your _hands_." It's when the babbling starts to turn incoherent that Eliot is really encouraged, with Quentin making desperate noises that go straight to Eliot's cock.

"'M not gonna last," Quentin pants. His hands scrabble over Eliot's hair as he says, "Eliot, stop."

Eliot pulls off with an obscene noise, letting his mouth hang open slightly to show off what he's sure are cock-reddened lips. "Stop like you don't want this, or stop because you're not going to last?"

"Um, the second one?" Quentin says, his hips still pumping a little, seeking the lost touch.

"Because the second one is nothing. Don't doubt for a second I can get you hard again."

"Fuck." Quentin licks his lips, staring at Eliot's. "Yeah, okay."

"So the second one, then?"

"Yeah."

"I can keep going?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Eliot says, pushing his fingers back in and taking in Quentin all the way to the back of his throat. Quentin shouts as Eliot works to overload him, relishing in his reactions as he comes. He keeps licking and sucking, making Quentin shudder and jerk underneath him, satisfied only when Quentin whines about being oversensitive.

He trails kisses all along Quentin's body as he also strips down, cataloging what spots make Quentin gasp or squirm and just how much. With Quentin sprawled out on his belly, he takes a second to appreciate the long, hard lines of his body, flushed in all the places Eliot's mouth has been.

"You look so good spread out for me," Eliot murmurs, making Quentin squirm. He reapplies the lubrication spell and teases one finger against Quentin's hole, working him up for a while with just his fingers until he decides to add his tongue to the mix too.

"Eliot, please," Quentin keens, grinding futilely against the bed.

"Please what?" Eliot asks with a lilt of innocence, withdrawing his fingers.

Quentin whines. "Please… please fuck me."

He pulls away to apply the safe sex spell, urging Quentin up onto his hands and knees. His facade of composure only starts to slip once he pushes inside Quentin for the first time.

"Holy fuck, Q, you're so tight."

" _Please_ ," Quentin responds, snapping his hips and taking more of Eliot in.

"Oh," Eliot says. "God, okay, I'm gonna need you to stay still for a second if you don't want this to be over before it's begun." Quentin listens, and after a moment, Eliot resumes pushing in. A quick check in with Quentin and then he starts fucking him in earnest.

They're both unrepentantly loud, no one around for miles to tell them to keep it down. Eliot hasn't felt this good in… well, more than a couple of years, all told, thanks to Fillorian marriage limitations. Any lingering doubts he had about Quentin enjoying being fucked flew out the window when he started begging.

Quentin doesn't just enjoy it, he thrives on it, asking for it harder and faster and basically going beyond Eliot's wildest expectations.

"Oh El, oh fuck, I'm gonna come again," Quentin warns. Eliot works his cock to get him there, feeling his own orgasm building and wanting to take care of Q first. He loses the plot for a moment as his vision whites out, but he's pretty sure they both come at the same time.

"So that was the full Eliot Waugh experience, huh?" Quentin asks a lazy bit of time later.

"One variation," Eliot says. "It comes in lots of different flavors."

"Mm," Quentin says, kissing him again. "Can't wait to try them all."

***

Eliot finds out how right he was to call Quentin insatiable that first morning. Now that they've established a mutual attraction, all they have to do is glance at each other a certain way and then it's on, no questions asked. Quentin has something of a list, and Eliot is always happy to find a new way to please him.

It's after one particular afternoon delight that Quentin asks, "You ever think about going back?”

Eliot stretches and gets up, starting to get dressed. “After we’ve solved the mosaic? Of course. Margo will probably crucify us for missing her wedding.”

“No, I mean,” Quentin stands up and follows suit, “what if we just, tried to go back." Eliot doesn’t respond, feeling his heart sink, but focusing on his clothes. Quentin goes on, “We don’t know that we won’t be able to get back, we got here once—”

“Look, I know you’re frustrated but—”

“—and we could come back with help! Julia, Margo, Penny, even Alice—”

Eliot starts, “—you can’t just _give up_ , I know it’s hard—”

“It’s not about giving up! Eliot, I’m talking about our _lives_ —”

“—and I’m talking about all of magic!” Not to mention all of the things he'd have to go back to, after over a year of escapism. “This is our _quest,_ and if you really thought we could get back again we would’ve started looking for a way back after two weeks.” Eliot grabs the latest stack of papers and storms outside.

Quentin follows not long after, still tying his shirt. “Jesus El, you don’t have to remind me. All of magic, no pressure.”

"We could be done tomorrow for all you know. We can’t just throw away all this time we’ve invested!" He sighs, frustrated. "If you wanna live your life, live it here.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know _exactly_ what that means.”

Eliot startles when he hears the crash of tiles and turns to see Quentin moving away from having kicked them. “Oops.”

“Maybe you should just… go for a walk for a while.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Eliot spends the next few hours concentrating on depicting the beauty of all life, again, but different this time. He tries not to think about how long Quentin is gone until he’s about to put the last tile down to finish up this latest attempt.

He can't help but think bitterly, _man_ , what if this was it? But as he puts the tile down he knows nothing is going to happen, because Quentin isn’t here.

He moves immediately to write it down, but he’s struggling with the thought of deconstructing it to move to the next, because this will be the first attempt that Quentin never got to see. What if it's the first of many? What if Quentin stumbles upon a portal and goes back, leaving him behind in Fillory? It wouldn't be the first time. Everyone always leaves eventually.

He’s struggling to keep it together and then he hears Quentin softly say, “That’s beautiful,” as he walks up behind him.

And then Eliot loses it. He’d been so sure Quentin wasn’t going to come back, he’s horrified to hear a sob escape, and then he turns to look at Quentin and he can’t stop the tears.

Quentin immediately comes to him and pulls him into a hug, holding him through the sobs, comforting him. “Hey, it’s okay, hey. I am never going to leave without you.”

Once he’s recovered, Eliot says, “These tears aren’t for you, it’s fully this damn puzzle.”

Quentin just laughs (wetly, because of course he's started crying too) and says “of course” before “c’mon, we both need a break. Let’s take the rest of the day off.”

They go to bed together, but nothing escalates beyond cuddling and the occasional kiss. Eliot lets the tears fall as they come, studying Quentin's face and not saying anything for the longest time.

Eventually, the magic of the moment fades away, and he starts to feel self-conscious. "Fuck," he says with a laugh, "when did I become such a sap? I blame you."

Q laughs along with him. "I'll take that as a compliment," he says, then gets up to start making dinner.

And if Eliot's chest feels funny after that, he blames it on dehydration from crying too much.

***

One morning Eliot jiggles Quentin awake. “Q, hey, wake up.”

Quentin groans against the half-light and mumbles, “Too early.”

“I agree, babe, but my arm’s asleep.”

“Huh?”

“You’re crushing the life out of my arm, and I kinda need it later to place tiles.”

“Oh, fuck, m’sorry,” Q mumbles, taking it way too seriously in his half-asleep state. He curls up and away but as soon as Eliot frees his arm, he’s back, pushing Eliot onto his other side.

“You're the little spoon today,” Quentin declares, and Eliot opens his mouth to protest until Quentin fits his arm securely around Eliot’s middle, then he shuts it again.

He doesn’t fall back asleep right away - he blames it on his arm and the pins and needles, but really he’s just cataloging Quentin’s huffed breaths against the back of his neck, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers feel resting just above Eliot’s hipbone. Eventually he dozes back off to the sound of Quentin’s light snoring.

  
_artwork by evelyn ([twitter](https://twitter.com/wow__then) / [tumblr](https://fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/))_

***

Not every day can be all puzzle, and Quentin won't let him get away with all sex (except for that one noteable Tuesday…), so they start to delve into some hobbies. 

Quentin takes up carving, which gives Eliot an excuse to select a few extra branches when firewood collecting that would be good candidates. The results are more unique than anything either of them could do with magic, and they quickly find that passing villagers take an interest in them.

Eliot focuses more on music, first humming or singing tunes they grew up with, to Quentin's sometimes-delight, sometimes-exasperation. As time goes by, he finds himself thinking up more of his own melodies and lyrics, using Quentin as a sounding board and starting to keep a notebook of ideas. Arielle even loans him a balalaika, a stringed instrument she insists her father never uses anymore.

Perhaps to make time for their new interests, they get on a one-tile-difference kick with the mosaic, where instead of taking the whole thing down every time, they study the previous one and then change just one tile at a time.

Eliot learns that Quentin has a fondness for blue over green, and only uses yellows in ‘special circumstances’, whatever those are.

Eventually they acknowledge that their pictures aren't looking like much of anything anymore, and they're still a pain in the ass to write down, so they go back to old methods.

They also take ideas from anyone who passes by, which is most often Arielle but also the occasional wanderer. Arielle's most common request is for something from their time, something that she wouldn't recognize. Her favorite so far has been Hello Kitty, which was Eliot's idea.

Quentin sighs after they complete a depiction of a lemur for a passing family, which doesn't turn out to be the answer, but does get them some extra fabric for their trouble that can be used for new clothing. "I know people mean well, but all this is doing is convincing me the 'beauty of all life' is definitely not a picture of an animal."

"Maybe you're taking it too literally," Arielle says, holding up two pieces of differently-colored fabric to see how they look together. "It could be something that evokes a feeling rather than recognition."

"Yeah, we tried that," Eliot says, walking over to take away the red fabric and changing it for a blue. She nods at his substitution. "We had a whole 'abstract' phase. Not so sure we really 'get' art."

"Maybe," Quentin nods at Eliot, addressing his suggestion to Ari, "you could help guide us! You clearly have an eye for beauty." At her pleased look, Eliot sees Quentin duck his head, then tuck loose strands of hair behind his ear. Ah, the look of a man with a crush. Eliot distracts himself by removing and organizing tiles while they flirt.

After that, Eliot sees how close Quentin and Arielle are becoming. Days that used to be the three of them chatting over the puzzle are more Q and Ari in deep conversation about whatever Quentin is nerding out about that day, with Eliot chiming in occasionally. And if Eliot is any good at reading body language, which he is, Arielle is 100% returning Quentin's infatuation.

Plus, they start spending more non-puzzle time together, leaving Eliot back at their site alone with his thoughts. God, he likes Arielle, he really does, and he's happy for Q, but did it really have to happen so soon?

If there's one thing he's learned in adapting to this fantastical otherworld, though, it's that he can't always be selfish. For all he knows, that's part of what has to happen for this godforsaken puzzle to work. He knows what he has to do.

"I think we should stop with the physical stuff," he says the next time they're alone and it looks like Quentin might be about to go in for a kiss.

"Oh. Why?"

Eliot avoids eye contact as he continues, "Oh, you know. It was a fun diversion for a while, but we've both got new things to focus on."

Quentin is silent for a while. "Look, I know I've been distracted lately. I haven't been doing enough, I can--"

"Q," Eliot interrupts, "you've been doing plenty. It's nothing like that, I just think, we should be living the lives we wanna live."

Quentin looks confused at that, but he stops arguing. Eliot's sure that the next time Arielle comes around he'll realize what Eliot was getting at.

***

Eliot goes back to his separate bed, the one he used in their first year here in past-Fillory. It's gone unused long enough that he has to re-apply the spell to match the comfort level to his own 21st-century expectations. He thinks he must have done it wrong, though, because it’s the worst sleep he’s ever had in his life.

He blames this poor sleep for the first few days in which he feels completely out of sorts, every ounce of his concentration going toward the mosaic so as to keep him from becoming a mess.

He likes Arielle, is the thing, and it’s obvious when she comes around now that Quentin goes from blank and unhappy to vibrant and more himself. Seeing this happen day after day, he’s sure he did the right thing. It would have hurt them both so much more if Eliot had waited. He’s sure.

It isn’t until Eliot hears Quentin laugh at something Arielle says one day that he realizes how fake it sounds.

He pays a little more attention to Quentin over the next day and realizes with a sinking feeling that it’s all like that. On the surface, Quentin seems fairly normal, going through his usual motions, maybe with a little less enthusiasm than usual, but it was easy to chalk that up to feeling awkward around Eliot. But Eliot’s been around long enough to see the signs of Quentin in a spiral, and it pains him to realize he’s been too caught up in himself to notice it happening right before his eyes.

He tries all his usual dumb shit to try to get Quentin to smile as the days go on, and while it seems to work most of the time, he doesn't really think it's making a difference.

Sure enough, Quentin starts being unable to even go through all of his usual motions, and Eliot knows he's got to work harder to get through to him.

That night, he wakes up in the middle of the night to find Quentin sitting up in bed, staring out into the dark.

He shifts deliberately in his sheets, making enough noise to signal to Quentin that he's awake. "Can't sleep?" he asks when Quentin turns toward him.

As Quentin shakes his head, Eliot shifts to leave plenty of room in the space next to himself. “C’mon, share with me.” When Quentin half-heartedly protests, Eliot assures him, “It’s just to sleep, c’mon. We both need to be sleeping better.”

He thinks it's probably the implication that it'll help Eliot that convinces Quentin. Damn that selfless man.

Quentin joins Eliot in his bed, curling into the spot Eliot leaves for him. It's not his usual on-his-side sleeping position - more like he's trying to make himself as small as possible. Eliot carefully lays a hand on Quentin's exposed arm, soothing up and down until Quentin unravels a little bit. "Try to get some sleep," he whispers.

They both sleep in far later than usual. Eliot wakes first, but keeps himself still so that Quentin can keep resting. He surprises himself by how much he wants to press a kiss against the back of Quentin's neck. He'd thought he was past that. He studies the stubble he can see spread across Quentin's jaw, and wonders when the last time was that he shaved.

When Quentin finally stirs sometime later, waking Eliot back up from his doze, Eliot speaks up before Quentin can take off. "G'morning, sleepyhead. I daresay we both needed that."

Quentin shifts until he's on his other side, facing Eliot. Yes, definitely overdue for a shave. "I thought bedsharing wasn't allowed."

"Right. That's on me," Eliot admits. "I thought it would be easier to transition back to normal this way, but I underestimated the power of a good cuddle. Don't worry, though," he adds as Quentin's brows dip in concern, "I can keep my hands to myself."

"Right."

"You haven't shaved in a while," Eliot points out.

"I know, just haven't felt up to it, I guess."

"Would it be okay if I did it?"

Quentin nods. "Yeah, okay."

Eliot takes his time spreading lather over Quentin's stubble, making up stories about what their friends could be doing while he works. As he moves on to the razor, he sometimes stops speaking mid-sentence as he concentrates on shaving gently over Quentin's skin. When he pulls the razor away, Quentin will finish his sentence with his own theory, keeping up the story. Enjoying the give-and-take of this, Eliot comes up with more and more outlandish beginnings to a theory before tilting Quentin's head and focusing on a careful swipe of the razor. Quentin plays along, making their friends' lives sound more and more ridiculous with every pass. By the time Eliot is done, he gets what he believes is a genuine smile from Quentin.

"Thank you," Quentin says as Eliot pats him on the cheek.

"Any time," Eliot says, distracting himself with cleaning off the razor as he figures out what to say next. "I know you've been having a hard time. It's-- I know I can't fix it. But if there's anything I can do to help."

Quentin's eyebrows gather together as he processes that. "That… means a lot, El, thank you. Um," and Eliot waits for him to finish his thought, "I think— if you could just tell me why. Why you ended things when you did.”

"Oh, Q. I was just trying to make things easier. You could have something special, with Arielle." And then with a sincerity that hurts him, he adds, "It doesn't mean I care about you any less."

Quentin is still depressed after that day, but he seems to be past the worst of it, and Eliot takes it as a good sign that he's willing to talk about it more. Slowly but surely, things start to improve.

His words seem to have sunk in about Arielle, too, if Eliot's observances are any indication. They don't seem to be all about the PDA when they're around him, but he can see the easy way they walk together now, and how casual touches are more confident than exploratory.

He's happy for them, and it's only a matter of time before he can make that his primary reaction in seeing them together.

***

Eliot's working on a new song some evening, and when he hears the cottage door open, he says, "Hey, I've got a new version of that one song to run by you," without looking up.

"I'd be happy to hear it, but I don't think you meant it for me," comes a familiar voice, and Eliot looks up to see Arielle setting down a basket and removing gloves. Quentin is nowhere to be seen.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asks, reaching for wine and holding up the bottle in a question that Arielle nods the answer to.

"We need to talk about Quentin," she says, taking a seat at the table at Eliot's indication.

"Ah, of course. The eternal conundrum that is Quentin Coldwater." Eliot sets two mugs down and fills them both with generous pours before sliding one over to Arielle.

She laughs lightly. "For a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, it can be remarkably hard to get him to talk about his feelings sometimes."

Eliot hums, taking a large drink of wine. "Not gonna lie, that may be my bad influence. So, how can I help?"

Arielle surprises him with what comes next. "I know that you and Quentin were together. I knew that part long before Quentin told me. What I'm learning though is that you broke things off… because of me?"

Ah, so that's what this is about. "Not exactly," Eliot says carefully. "You don't have to worry about me getting in the way. He really is crazy about you. What Q and I had… wasn't really that serious," he says, wishing he knew a common vernacular option for ‘just hooking up.’ “It was more… physical.”

Arielle studies him. "Eliot. Would you consider us friends, you and me?" 

Eliot nods, reaching out to take her hand. "We'll always have Hello Kitty," he says with a smile.

"And I know you care for Quentin." Amusement plays across her face as she goes on, "Now this is just a theory, so forgive me if I'm wrong here, but you must not think very highly of yourself."

Eliot sputters out a laugh. "As a matter of fact I don't." He pulls his hand away and clinks his mug against hers. "Very astute and slightly cruel. I knew I liked you for a reason."

She laughs along with him for a moment before her expression sobers. "What you have to understand is that Quentin and I don't agree with you, about yourself." Eliot shifts uncomfortably. "You are kind, dedicated, clever, and I'm sure if we asked Quentin he would rattle off at least 20 more compliments."

"What's your point?" he asks a little harshly, not sure why this is making him so angry.

"My _point_ is… I don't see why Quentin and I can't continue forward as we have been, alongside what the two of you had before. I think he has enough love in his heart for both of us."

He doesn't argue with the use of the l-word, only because he doesn't think she'd get it. "What makes you think that's something Quentin would want?"

Arielle gives Eliot her best 'girl, please' look, causing Eliot to chuckle. He still has his doubts, but he knows that's not what this conversation is about.

Instead, he asks, "Are you sure this isn't just something you're offering because you think it will make Quentin feel better?"

She's quiet for a while, clearly giving it some thought, which Eliot appreciates for Quentin's sake. "It's something I think will work for all of us, if we're honest and open about it. But that being said, if you can't be 'serious' about Quentin, maybe you were right to end it."

It hits him like a slap in the face, and he sits up straight in his chair. "Look, I'm gonna let that one slide because I know you're coming at this from the outside, but don't talk about things you know nothing about. I don't respond well to people making judgments on my relationships."

Eliot is bracing himself for an argument, but her expression softens. "I don't mean to make assumptions. You're the one who said it wasn't serious. I just mean, if he's not something special to you, then don't let him think he is."

She finishes off her wine and sets the mug down on the table, reminding Eliot of a mic drop as she grabs her things and sweeps out of the cottage, leaving Eliot alone to ponder her words.

***

The next few days pass, and things return to somewhat normal. Quentin's mood improves drastically, and Eliot feels more at peace when Arielle comes around. He hasn't done anything about their conversation, but it's been on his mind.

One particular chilly Wednesday finds Eliot in a good mood that Quentin seems to mirror. They dive into the mosaic with a fresh idea, laughing and joking like they had in their first month.

"I'm short a pink tile," Quentin says, checking the piles near him.

Eliot finds it first. "You mean this tile?" When Quentin reaches for it, Eliot pulls it away. 

"You son of a bitch," Quentin says, laughing and continuing to fail at grabbing the tile from him.

Eliot continues to play keep-away, eventually standing and holding it above his head as they laugh. Quentin is all up in his space, attempting to tickle or distract him, until suddenly they both catch each other's eyes. All at once Eliot realizes just how close they've gotten and watches as the joy just kind of slips out of Quentin.

Eliot's heart hurts and he reaches for Quentin as he backs off, tucks his hair, and looks away.

"Hey," he says, but Q brushes him off and says, “Sorry, heh, I don’t even think we need pink for this one,” and goes to a green pile.

Eliot lets him go and just watches for a second, Quentin’s brows pulling together in his concentration face, and he thinks, today’s the day. He ponders that for a bit, then smiles and ruffles Quentin’s hair as he passes and says, “Nah, it’s definitely the pink,” and sets the pink tile down.

They work in silence that Eliot thinks (or at least hopes) is comfortable, but he still takes a moment to step back. He studies today’s plan and says, "Q? Come here for a second, help me check something." He points out the problem sections and loops his arm around Quentin’s shoulders as he studies the tiles. He feels a pleasant warmth in his middle as Quentin leans in to him slightly and then points out the section of six tiles that El had deliberately misplaced. Eliot feigns surprise at his mistake and squeezes Quentin’s shoulders before walking away to fix it.

Eliot's pretty sure Quentin's good mood is restored by the time they’re ready to write down the attempt. It's late afternoon and getting colder as the sun starts to go down, so it isn't hard to convince Quentin to stop for the day and start drinking wine with him.

They spread out the quilt over the mosaic, and Eliot doesn't miss the resemblance to the night Quentin first kissed him. Taking that as a good sign, he says, “There’s something I should tell you.”

Quentin bumps his knee against Eliot's. "I've never been able to stop you before."

"I had a talk with Ari, she may have told you."

Quentin nods. "All she would say is that you'd talk to me about it when you're ready."

Eliot breathes a laugh out through his nose. "Yeah, she would. Well, let's just say she helped me get my head out of my ass a bit."

"What, did she have a crowbar?" Quentin says, snorting into his drink.

"When I… ended things between the two of us--" he pauses, trying to remember the words he rehearsed and failing. "I thought I was making it so you didn't have to choose. But really, I was just choosing for you, at my own expense."

Quentin shuffles a little bit closer, meeting Eliot's eye for the first time, prompting, “Your own expense?”

“I wanted to get out before you figured out she was better than me, then dropped me like so much hotness.”

And despite the seriousness of the moment, Quentin gets this mischievous look. "Eliot, c'mon. I knew she was better than you from the start."

"Try to stay in the moment with me please," he says with a laugh, throwing a flower at Quentin. Taking the joke as a good sign, he keeps going. "Look, that may be true, _but,_ ” he emphasizes, still laughing a little as he reaches for Quentin’s hand, “I’ve realized two things since then.”

“Only two?”

“ _One—“_ through his teeth with a little bounce-hit against Quentin’s shoulder to imply the ‘motherfucker’ “there’s no reason you’d have to choose. And two, well…” now he brings Quentin’s hand up to press a kiss to his palm, “even if there is, I’m not gonna give up on us without a fight.”

There's a long pause after that, with Quentin making no move to respond. He thinks that Quentin's eyes are dancing, but panic starts to rise that maybe he's misread this. Quickly he adds, "If that’s… something you want.”

And then Quentin breaks, laughing, and Eliot holds his hands up to say ‘what the fuck is happening’, not expecting this response.

“Sorry, I know I’m not—” Quentin says as he starts to crawl into his lap, “it’s just you said you wouldn’t give up without a fight and then offered to give up, without a fight,” and his hands come up to frame Eliot’s face, blinding grin in place.

Eliot smiles nervously, arms coming up to bracket Quentin’s shoulders, “Well excuse the fuck out of me for making sure you still—”

And then Quentin kisses the fuck out of him.

“I still.”

They make out for a while until Eliot finally says, “Thanks for shitting all over my attempt to be serious, asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” Quentin says while looking not at all repentant. “It’s just that I was kinda planning to have the same conversation with you, um.”

“ _What_?"

“I mean, probably not as eloquently, but yeah.”

“Well let’s hear it, babe!”

“No!” Quentin says, burying his head in the crook of Eliot’s neck, pressing a kiss there. “It’s all already been said.” 

“Come on, I had to suffer. There’s no way you were going to say the _exact_ same thing.”

Quentin stiffens a bit. “I don’t want you to, um, take it the wrong way.” He sits up, moving out of Eliot’s lap but still close enough to easily move right back in.

Eliot raises an eyebrow. “Well now I need to hear it.” He leans back, putting his weight on his hands. “If it helps, I promise to keep an open mind.”

Quentin tucks a loose hair behind his ear. “It just, um— I just felt like maybe you were looking for an excuse to break up with me, before?”

Eliot’s heart sinks, because he can’t exactly refute that, can he? He’d been so sure Quentin would move on at the first available opportunity, whether it be returning to their old lives, or pursuing Arielle, or joining a random caravan and deciding that was more fun… his imagination had come up with a thousand ways for Quentin to leave him and none for how he could get him to stay. 

He only realizes he’s been silent for a while when Q prompts, “Was I... wrong?”

“Not exactly,” Eliot answers, reaching for Q’s hand as an anchor. “Though from my perspective I was actually looking for the reason you were going to break up with me and trying to beat you to the punch.” And man, it felt like a punch.

Quentin turns Eliot’s hand palm up and starts tracing patterns onto it. Nothing magical, just shapes. “Why were you so sure I was going to break up with you?”

Eliot laughs bitterly. “Have you got all night? I can give you hundreds of reasons not to stay in a relationship with me, and that’s just from exit interviews alone.”

Quentin’s eyebrows pull together into his concentration face, still tracing patterns, and Eliot hates himself a little bit for pushing this and taking Quentin away from that happy mood he’d had. Again.

“Okay." Quentin says after a moment. "So would you say that you... know me? Like, I mean, you’ve seen me on days that I can’t get out of bed. And like, when I get so focused on the mosaic that I forget to eat.”

“Of course,” Eliot says softly.

“So don’t you think that, y’know, I know you too?”

Eliot feels his chest tighten. He’s in uncharted territory here. “To the extent I can be knowable, sure.”

Quentin smirks. “So maybe believe me when I say I know what I’m getting into, and I’m still here.”

Eliot doesn’t have the right words to say here, so he uses a language he knows better, and pours his feelings into a kiss.

They pull apart and Eliot cups Quentin’s face in his hands, staring at him and wondering how he could possibly deserve him. “How do you know I’m not gonna fuck it up?”

Quentin just shrugs. “I guess I don’t, but… I don’t plan to give up on us without a fight, either.”

Eliot can live with that answer. He meets him halfway when Quentin moves back in, and they're soon making out again. This time it definitely seems on its way to more, so Eliot asks, "Can we be done with the serious talking part now?"

"Yes please," Quentin quickly agrees, climbing on top of Eliot until it's more comfortable to lie down with Quentin above him. Eliot slides his hands inside Quentin's shirt to feel the warm skin there. It isn't long before they're both rutting against each other, seeking friction.

Unsatisfied with the angle, Eliot wraps his arms around Quentin and maneuvers them to their sides, where they can more easily angle toward each other.

"God, I missed you," Quentin says earnestly.

"I'm right here," Eliot says, holding up a hand that Quentin reaches for, linking their fingers as they resume kissing. From this new position, their cocks align and soon they're gasping into their kiss as they grind against each other. When it's not enough, Eliot fumbles first with Quentin's pants, then his own, until he can fist their cocks together. Quentin utters one of his beautiful moans and reaches down to help, until they cry out their orgasms, releasing weeks of pent up frustration.

***

The next day, when Arielle shows up, Eliot asks, "Let me talk to her?" and kisses Quentin after he nods. He ushers Arielle into the cottage and pours her a drink - juice this time instead of wine - before getting comfortable at the same table where they had their heart-to-heart a few days prior.

"First of all, because I didn't say it the first time, thank you for having the sense to figure this out and set us straight."

"Eliot, you don't have to pull me aside and _thank_ me, I was only--"

Eliot holds up a hand. "I know, just let me finish. I'm getting to something here."

"Alright."

"Quentin and I talked a little about it last night, but basically what it comes down to is that we need some ground rules for these shenanigans or Quentin is going to be a basket case."

"Mm, I think 'basket case' is one of your modern terms."

"Right, right." Eliot pauses to think for a moment. "He'll worry himself into a coma."

"Got it." Arielle twirls her mug around on the table. "So what exactly did you have in mind? I know that you're having sex. That doesn't bother me."

"Well, that's a good start," Eliot says, surprised to hear her so blunt about it. Maybe people were more hush-hush about sex in his previous Fillory experience just because he was the king. "As far as I'm concerned, the two of you can do anything you can think of with your wildest imagination, as long as it makes him happy. And you happy."

"Then I feel the same about the two of you."

"Are you sure? I mean, not to oversell it, but sex is kind of my second language. I'm fluent in it. I wouldn't hold it against you if you wanted to… prohibit a few choice phrases."

"What makes you think I'm not… well-spoken?"

"Fair point. Still, think on it. It's perfectly acceptable for us to revisit this discussion if you think of something off-limits or have a problem with something."

"You seem to know about all of this remarkably well."

"Yeah, well. This isn't my first time as part of a sharing situation. Just a bit more mature in the approach." At her raised eyebrow, he adds, "Let's just say I learned a lot about what not to do."

"What about when we're all together? If I want to show Quentin affection, is that going to bother you?"

"Actually, I don't think it will, but I'll let you know if that changes. You?"

"I'm fine with it, as long as it's not something that should happen behind closed doors," she says, eyes sparkling.

"It's like you know me," Eliot says, pleased.

They ponder it for a while, thinking of small things to ask, but overall they're both agreed that things can stay fairly open on both sides. "Think we should put Quentin out of his misery?"

"I'll go get him," Arielle offers.

"Jesus," Eliot says when Quentin enters. His hair is technically pulled back into its usual bun, but pieces are falling out all over, clearly from his nervous fidgeting while he'd waited. "Did you do any work at all, or just obsess over what we were talking about?"

"Um, maybe just start by telling me you're not both breaking up with me."

"Oh, Q," Eliot says at the same time Arielle says the same with Quentin's full name. They nod at each other and move to hug Quentin together.

"We're not done with you yet, babe."

"Neither of us," Arielle agrees.

"Sit. We'll catch you up," Eliot says. "Juice or wine?"

"Just water," Quentin says. It's not the choice Eliot would make in his shoes, but he's not surprised.

They fill him in on their discussion - Eliot smiles to watch him fidget when they talk about sex - then address the final topic.

"I know you were nervous to have this conversation, which is why we did most of it without you, but you're in this as much as any of us. Have you disagreed with anything we've said, and is there anything else you want to add? Anything goes."

"Um, it pretty much sounds too good to be true? So no, nothing to add." He swipes at his hair again, upsetting it from its bun further.

"Dear god, please let me fix your hair," Eliot says while Arielle takes his hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to add something?" she asks with an encouraging smile. "Maybe make us feel like we didn't impose all these rules on you?"

Quentin laughs as Eliot pulls his hair out of the tie. "You say that as if all the 'rules' aren't to my benefit." Eliot smooths his fingers through Quentin's locks until they run through more smoothly. By the time he's pulling it back to be re-tied, Quentin says, "Actually, I do have one question."

"Go for it," Eliot says.

"What do we tell each other? Like, do either of you want to know what goes on with the other one? Are you okay with me sharing details?"

"Good question," Eliot says, thinking about his answer as he takes a seat next to Quentin on the bench, instead of his previous spot across the table. "I don't have to know about the two of you, but you're welcome to share whatever you like, at least from my perspective." He realizes he's thinking only of sex, so he adds, "I can tell you if there's something I want kept private."

"I'll do the same. And I don't have to know either," Arielle says, "but I may ask the occasional curious question."

"No one can fault you for that," Eliot says. "Maybe you'll learn something."

" _Eliot_ ," Quentin says, scandalized, but Arielle just laughs.

"We don't want you to have to keep any secrets, is what I think we're getting at," Eliot says.

"We're all friends here," Arielle emphasizes.

Eliot nods. "And we can revisit this at any time, if anyone wants. That's the first rule."

"You really don't have anything else?"

"You both said PDA -- affection, I mean -- was okay. I'd really like it if someone would kiss me right now."

"Ladies first," Eliot insists. He watches Arielle turn his face toward hers, and she kisses him sweetly.

"My turn," Eliot says, similarly turning Quentin toward him before bringing their lips together. He can't resist slipping Quentin a little tongue, but by his standards, it's a fairly chaste kiss.

"I suppose that makes it a deal," Arielle says.

"Much better than shaking hands," Quentin says, looking a bit dazed.

Eliot can't help but agree.

***

The following weeks of bliss were never gonna last forever. Eliot can feel himself getting more and more restless, going through their wine faster than usual, but he can't make himself stop.

Quentin spends the night with Arielle, an increasing occurrence lately, and Eliot commits himself to getting well and truly sloshed. He knows he's been difficult to live with lately, but with Quentin away he can get drunk and not worry about fucking up the only good thing in his life.

The problem comes when he wakes up the following morning and can't see any reason not to keep drinking, when it'll stave off his hangover.

Quentin and Arielle are back and already laughing over the mosaic. Eliot squints against the bright sunlight and makes his way, stumbling, to join them.

"Hey, buddy," Quentin says, placing a hand on Eliot's chest. Eliot laughs when his leaning weight causes Quentin to stumble back a couple of steps. He's so small, it's adorable.

"I think maybe you should go back to bed." Quentin again. Eliot watches him try to reach for the bottle in Eliot's hand but it's easy enough to keep it out of Q's reach.

He'd forgotten about Arielle, though. She snatches the bottle when he's not looking, and he rounds on her, only dealing with a slight dizziness before he can refocus.

"Clever girl. Clever, clever girl. I bet you put that cleverness to good use, huh? Been keeping our boy busy."

"Eliot--"

He's swaying toward her, pretty sure he can be slippery enough to grab the bottle, but Quentin keeps trying to get in his way.

"He likes his ladies clever, you know. You should see the one he left behind, he--"

It happens all at once, Eliot reaching for the bottle alongside Quentin's sharp " _hey--_ " as he throws up a shield, which Eliot only notices because he bounces off of it at the same time Arielle trips backwards onto the grass. And like a bucket of cold water he realizes the expression that's been on Arielle's face is one of fear, and he remembers how intimidating all 6 foot 2 inches of his height can be. He bounces off the shield again, this time attempting to reach out and help, but the invisible wall causes him to finally lose his balance.

"Shit," he says from the ground. Quentin has dropped the shield so he can go to Arielle, but Eliot doesn't attempt to get up. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"Enough," Quentin says sharply, cutting him off. "Go… sleep it off."

A chorus of _fuck fuck fuck_ has started going off in his head. He struggles to his feet and thinks about trying to fix it, but he's not sure how to do that without making things worse. So instead he listens to Q and goes inside to sleep it off.

Sleep isn't exactly forthcoming, though, not with the litany of self-deprecation echoing through his head. He's not sure how long he's been staring at the ceiling when the door creaks open and Quentin enters the cottage.

"Where's Ari?" Eliot asks, pushing up on his elbows.

"I sent her home. Look, we both know you're a certified bitch, even on your better days, but you don't have to prove it extra hard right now. You're not up for renewal."

Quentin shoves a canteen of water at him, which Eliot gratefully accepts with the best apologetic look he can muster. "Why, Mr. Coldwater. That was a grade A insult. You didn't mix your metaphors or anything."

"You can't do this, El. Drink as much as you want, but not if it makes you mean. Arielle can take care of herself, but you caught her off guard because she never expected _you_ of all people to try to physically overpower her."

"I know it doesn't help, but I didn't even realize… I never meant to hurt her."

"Which is why I'm talking to you at all right now."

"I should go apologize to her," Eliot says, but Quentin reaches out to stop him from getting up.

"Sober up first. If she's willing to hear it, I'll have her come by tonight. Deal?"

Eliot takes the hand that's held out to him. "I'm sorry, Q. It's been a bad week. I'll do better."

Quentin's stern expression doesn't waver. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. We can talk then."

Eliot's sleep is full of nightmares, vague and unmemorable each time he wakes. He has to throw up once, and Quentin is there with a bucket and a hand on his back before he even realizes what's happening.

The next nightmare he does remember, an anxiety dream featuring Quentin ending things and listing every tiny detail of why. When he wakes up, he has to spend some time convincing himself it was a dream.

By nightfall he finally feels like the alcohol has left his system, leaving behind a killer headache. He steps out to go wash in the nearby stream, and when he returns, Arielle is there as well.

He gives her a thorough apology by the fire while Quentin prepares dinner in the background. It would be a cozy picture if Eliot didn't feel like shit, both physically and emotionally. Arielle is almost too forgiving, and she won't take Eliot up on the offer to slap him in return.

"I'll reserve the right for it if it happens again."

"I won't let it happen again," Eliot assures her, "and if it does, you have my permission to knee me in the balls without restraint."

"Sounds fair."

"You could do it now," Quentin suggests from the background.

"Thank you, Quentin," Eliot says loudly, wincing at his own volume. "You could, actually. I would deserve it."

"Enough wallowing," Arielle says, standing up. She offers a hand to Eliot. "Let's go help Quentin with dinner."

They pretend everything is okay through dinner, and it's almost believable. Arielle seems back to normal, at least, and if she knows Eliot or Quentin are acting a bit strained, she doesn't comment on it.

The moment Arielle leaves, Quentin goes to their bed and collapses onto his back. "I'll clean up," Eliot says, then distracts himself by washing dishes for a little while.

When he finishes up, Quentin waves him to join him in the bed, and Eliot crawls on, resting his head on Quentin's lap. "I know I fucked up."

Quentin's fingers card through his hair. "You did. But we all do."

Eliot laughs weakly.

"I'm not mad at you, Eliot. I mean, I was, obviously."

"Please don't let me off the hook. All it took was a little too much wine for me to become the monster I manifested as my own worst fear."

"Hey," Quentin says, urging Eliot to look up and meet his eye. "You are not your father. You just got a little carried away. You weren't going to hurt anyone, not unless you fell on us."

"I also said some dumb stuff, if I recall correctly."

"You mentioned Alice, but only to say she was clever. I've heard you try to be cutting. This wasn't exactly your best work."

They return to silence for a while, Eliot hating himself but keeping quiet about it for now.

Eventually, Quentin speaks up. "You wanna tell me what started all this?"

Eliot sighs. "I wish I could say for sure. When we left Earth, I… I dunno, Q. I was High King for a dying country nearly at war, I had a maybe-daughter that grew up without me, there was just a lot. I guess I kinda viewed this as a vacation for a long time, especially since we have magic here. But the longer we're here… the more I feel like I'm just gonna fuck this up too."

Quentin sighs. "I know the feeling." It should make him feel more hopeless, but Eliot finds some comfort in that. "Look, Fillory was fucked up long before you became High King. And as for your daughter, well, that's not your fault either."

"Debatable."

"Either way, the best either of us can do is just try not to fuck it up. And keep each other in check, like we always have."

"Yeah, okay," Eliot says. "I can do that."

***

Eliot doesn't sleep much that night, after sleeping all day, so he spends a lot of the night listening to Quentin's snoring and trying to forget how awful he'd made himself feel. He decides the next time he wants to get drunk, he'll ask Quentin to be in charge of how much he drinks. He's pretty sure Q would be okay with that.

He still feels miserable the next morning, but he's determined to get back to normal. It's Quentin who stops him from getting dressed and pulls him back to bed.

"You do so much for me when I'm having a hard time," Quentin says. "Let me take care of you this time."

At Quentin's instruction, he strips and lies on his stomach on the bed. He hears the murmur of incantation, but it's still a surprise when Quentin's hands land on his back, warm and slick.

"Oh," Eliot says pleasantly as Quentin straddles him and begins to massage his back and shoulders in earnest. "That's very nice."

"I actually did this for a bit, pre-Brakebills."

Eliot hums. "Complete with happy endings?"

Quentin chuckles and leans down to speak low in his ear. "Only in established relationships."

Eliot shudders. "I've never been happier to be committed."

Quentin's hands are as skilled as he talked them up to be, and Eliot is sufficiently turned on by the time Quentin asks him to flip over. Quentin continues his work, passing over Eliot's dick, until Eliot thinks he's going to go crazy from waiting.

"You know, I was going to jerk you off," Quentin begins, and Eliot makes a warning sound in the pause. "But now I'm thinking I'd rather ride you."

"Jesus. Fuck. Yes, let's do that."

When he agrees, he's forgetting about all the prep work that goes into that option, but it's worth it when Quentin finally sinks down on his cock. Eliot doesn't last as long as he'd like after all that touching, but his release shakes his whole body, Quentin still bouncing on his cock until he reaches his own orgasm.

They're not exactly fit for work after that, but after a light doze, they go to the stream to clean up and return to the mosaic.

Eliot's worries are still in the back of his mind, but they're not as loud as they have been.

***

Another day, another pass at the mosaic.

"Hey, can you pass me,” Eliot pauses to count under his breath, “seven reds?” He holds out his hand, but when nothing is immediately forthcoming, he turns to Quentin who is moving to stand.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get up, I could’ve shuffled over—” but he’s cut off as Quentin gets to him, leans over and plants one on him.

“Mm, what was that for?”

Quentin just shrugs and hands him his tiles. “Wanted to.”

A little later, Eliot crawls his way across the bottom edge, placing tiles, and notices the quiet around him. Sure enough, he turns to find Quentin staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing, um,” Q says, breaking from his reverie and tucking his hair back. “Just kinda zoned out.”

“Yeah, well, get to work, I don’t want to be the only one with fucked up knees by the time this is over.”

Quentin does refocus, and they eventually finish this set. They both stand back, wait for the magic that never happens, then sigh. Only Eliot doesn’t hear Quentin sigh with him, and he turns to find Quentin staring at him again.

It’s no huge surprise when Quentin moves in to kiss him, given the look on his face, but it is a little more forward than he’s used to so early in the day. Especially when Quentin starts groping his ass as the kiss turns more heated.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Eliot begins when they pull away to breathe for a moment, “but what exactly has gotten into you?”

“You’re really distracting today,” Quentin says.

“Can’t argue with that,” Eliot says, happy to go along with this take-charge Quentin that only surfaces every now and then.

Things start to get pretty hot and heavy until Quentin says, “Can we write down this puzzle attempt later?”

Eliot agrees, “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Good. Because I really want to fuck you.”

Eliot stares back at him for a moment, mouth agape, as that washes over him. But then doubt starts to creep into Quentin’s expression and Eliot utters a “ _fuck yes_ ” to head that off at the pass.

Quentin pulls him inside, pausing to kiss him every five feet until they quite literally fall into bed. Eliot pulls Quentin's hair free of its tie while Quentin gets to work leaving a mark against Eliot's neck. Eliot moans his approval as he cards his fingers through Quentin's newly freed locks.

Quentin settles on top of Eliot and starts to untie his shirt, but he pauses suddenly. "Are you sure you're okay with this? You've never really said…"

"Absolutely." Eliot reaches out to smooth the worry wrinkles from Quentin's forehead. He can tell Quentin needs to get out of his own head. "I've always been happy to bottom in the right circumstances. Honestly I didn't know that you were interested in switching. If I may say, you're kind of a slut for my cock."

"That's… true," Quentin agrees, blushing furiously. Eliot cups his hand over his cheek just to feel the heat of it. "I dunno, I gave you that massage and I kinda can't stop thinking about your ass. And like, what it would feel like."

"My ass _is_ spectacular."

Quentin bites at his lip. "So you don't… think I'll be bad at it?"

"Quentin Coldwater." Eliot sits up enough to tilt their foreheads together. "First of all, I'm pretty sure no sex between us can ever be bad. And I don't say that lightly."

"Why Eliot Waugh," Quentin says, mocking him, "that was almost sentimental." He seems pleased, though.

"I appreciate you making light of it so I didn't get too maudlin," Eliot says, and for a moment they just smile at each other. Then he mentally shakes himself. "Also, you were totally psyched about this ten minutes ago and now you seem… less so. We can wait. We've got time."

"No, I know, I just-- I'm still psyched." As if to prove his point, he lowers his weight onto Eliot and kisses him soundly. "I just figured, um, sometimes it's good to check in."

"Consider us checked," Eliot says, tucking Quentin's hair behind his ear.

They've become experts on shucking clothes while they make out, so it's not long before Eliot can feel every inch of Quentin's exposed skin against his own. Eliot grabs at Quentin's ass and is just about to make a suggestion when Quentin asks, "Can I suck you?"

"You know I can never say no to that," Eliot answers.

He'll never tire of the way Quentin sucks him, like it's an honor and a privilege to have Eliot's cock in his mouth. Eliot tells him this, noting the way Quentin lets out a little gasp at the praise. If anything he seems to try harder to please Eliot after that. Eliot rewards him by tugging lightly on his hair the way he knows Quentin likes.

It's a steady stream of good feelings until Eliot tugs a little harder and says, "Come here."

Quentin does, moving straight from Eliot's cock to his mouth, bringing all that enthusiasm to their kiss. "Very good," Eliot says, tilting Quentin's chin up so he can suck a matching mark into his neck.

"Now come up here so I can suck you," Eliot beckons. They rearrange the pillows and maneuver a bit, but then Quentin gets comfortable on his knees and pushes his way into Eliot's mouth.

"Oh," Quentin says, and then again when he realizes Eliot's left him to set the pace. He fucks into Eliot's mouth slowly and then, with some urging, with a little more abandon.

Eliot loses himself in pleasuring Quentin for a while, caught up in all his little noises. He's pretty sure he's never gotten so hot before on just the sounds of somebody else's pleasure. By the time he signals Quentin to ease up, his own cock is leaking precome onto his belly.

Soon they're back to kissing again, and Eliot really hopes Quentin's plans haven't changed because Eliot's starting to get really worked up with anticipation.

"I can't wait to feel your cock inside me," Eliot says sincerely, not the least because it'll be a first for Quentin.

"Fuck, same here," Quentin says. He sits up and fumbles the lubrication spell hastily, cursing when it fails due to his eagerness.

"Here, let me," Eliot says, pulling his wrist closer and looking Quentin in the eye as his fingers move in the familiar pattern.

"Fuck," Quentin says again. "Will you stay like this? On your back? I wanna see your face."

"Whatever you want, babe," Eliot assures him, accepting the kiss Quentin offers.

Quentin then shifts down the bed, the two of them getting comfortable before Quentin starts to finger him. It's slow-going at first - it really has been a while - but before long it starts to feel good, and the anticipation is back.

Eliot reaches out to still Quentin's arm. "I'm ready if you're ready," he says. Quentin nods, his mouth hanging open a little. "You good to do the spell?"

"Yes, right," Quentin says. Eliot watches him concentrate this time and complete the spell, and then he's hooking Eliot's knees up on his shoulders.

Quentin rubs the head of his dick over Eliot's hole a few times. Eliot's not sure if it's nerves or it's deliberate, but either way he says, "Nobody likes a tease, Q."

Quentin breathes heavily through his nose as he begins to push his way inside Eliot, who in turn moans and gasps encouragingly as he adjusts. Eliot's glad to be on his back, where he can see the blissed out look on Quentin's face as he bottoms out.

" _Eliot_ ," Quentin says reverently. Eliot reaches out to smooth back Quentin's hair, saying, "You should move now."

A few shallow thrusts at first, but then Quentin seems to find his rhythm and everything starts to feel electrified.

Eliot moans. "Oh fuck, I knew you were going to be good. You fit inside me perfectly." He'd intended to oversell it somewhat, to help Quentin feel confident, but he's not exaggerating at all.

"You feel so good, Eliot," Quentin says between gasps. He bends down to kiss Eliot, which Eliot gladly accepts before encouraging him to keep going.

Eliot's been avoiding his own cock, afraid he'll go off like a rocket at the first touch, but Quentin seems to be getting there right along with him at this point. He takes himself in hand, mumbling curses and encouragement and " _oh yeah, fuck me_ ," until Quentin says, "Fuck, Eliot, I want you to come."

"Yeah, fuck yeah, Q," Eliot says, working his cock and locking his eyes with Quentin's until he's forced to close them by the intensity of his orgasm.

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," Quentin whines, thrusting into him desperately before crying out, "I'm coming too," and absolutely falling apart.

Eliot pulls him into a kiss before he can move away, urging him to stay inside and loving the little thrusts that come with Quentin's aftershocks.

He's met with a dopey smile as Quentin breaks their kiss, then a bashful duck of the head. Quentin's hair is a mess, and it's possible Eliot has never found him more attractive.

***

After a fairly light day of failed mosaic attempts, Arielle convinces Eliot and Quentin to join her at the night market. Eliot knows that Quentin has gone with her a couple of times, but he's never been himself.

Within five minutes of taking in the magic displays and the food smells and all the items for trade, he can't believe he hadn't come sooner. Arielle admits things usually aren't so exciting, but this is Ember's Day of Merriment, which brings in extra vendors and entertainers.

They spend some time making trades with vendors. Between Ari's fruits, Eliot's music, and Quentin's tiny sculptures, they have a decent go at it. They acquire some fabrics that Arielle can sew, Quentin insisting on a yellow fabric for a shirt for Eliot, and Eliot helping Arielle pick out a deep purple for herself.

"If you wouldn't mind," Eliot begins, addressing Arielle, "I'd like to learn more sewing from you sometime. I've dabbled in my fashion show days, but never started from scratch."

"I'd love to teach you," Arielle says, and Quentin smiles dopily at the two of them.

Eliot ruffles Quentin's hair, left to hang down to his shoulders for once, as they move on to the next booth.

Most of their night is spent in the live music area, the three of them dancing together and letting loose for the first time in a while. Eliot feels the thrill of kissing Quentin in a crowd full of people, then seeing him turn and kiss Arielle too. Watching the two of them together, Eliot thinks he might eventually suggest a night behind closed doors for all three of them, but it's too soon to mention.

As nights go, it's definitely one of their better ones.

***

A few weeks later, Eliot wakes up to Quentin sobbing silently, shaking the bed.

"I'm sorry," Quentin says when he realizes Eliot is awake. "I should've gotten out of bed."

"Don't be absurd. Whatever you're going through, you're going through with me." Quentin turns to face him, and Eliot holds him, muttering soothing words occasionally.

"I don't even know what's wrong," Quentin manages between sobs.

"Shh, it's okay."

When it seems like Quentin has cried himself out, Eliot asks, "Do you think you want to try going back to sleep?" 

"Yeah, maybe," Quentin says, studying Eliot. Eliot's about to ask if he has something on his face when Quentin moves in 90% of the way. Eliot takes the hint and meets him at the other 10%, kissing him sweetly.

It's a slow, languid kiss, conveying comfort from Eliot and gratitude from Quentin. Eliot pulls away to smile at Q and wish him goodnight, but he's met by Quentin moving back in for a different kind of kiss. This sudden shift accompanied by Quentin's hand groping at him has Eliot backing off.

"Hey, you know I'm always game if you are, but are you really sure you're in the mood?"

"I want to make you feel good."

"I appreciate the thought, Q, but it’s not fun for me if it’s not fun for you.”

Quentin visibly deflates. “But what if I’m like this forever?”

"Oh, babe. I'll be okay." Eliot laughs a little and guides Quentin to tuck his head into his shoulder. “I’ve gone without before in much less favorable circumstances.” He smooths his hand up and down Quentin's back. “We’re going to get you through this. We always do. For now, it’s okay to be not okay.”

The next morning, Eliot asks to brush Quentin's hair. Eliot sets up their best chair by the window, so that Quentin can at least get some sunlight even if he doesn't want to go outside. While he works the tangles out of Quentin's locks, he tells him a story of the time he and Margo broke into the Dean's office at Brakebills looking for an amulet that they never found. "The amulet was for a spell that would convince Dr. Lipson we were both sick and needed to go to the Bahamas for a month to recover."

His story makes Quentin laugh, which is really all Eliot's going for. "Not one of our better ideas. We did find his secret stash of really good scotch, though, and replaced it with tea. If he ever found it, we never knew about it."

"I miss Margo," Quentin says, and Eliot feels the pang of it in his own chest.

"Me too." He stops working on the tangles for a moment, setting aside the brush and working his fingers along Quentin's scalp in a gentle head massage to ease the pain of all the pulling he's been doing.

"Mm, keep doing that," Quentin says. "I miss them all, like, not all the time even, but then when I remember I just feel guilty that it hasn't been all the time, y'know?" Eliot makes an affirmative noise that encourages him to go on. "And I don't want to go back, not really, because we're going to figure this out and then we'll get the key and for all we know time will be more wibbly-wobbly than we think and we'll only have been gone a week."

He's quiet for a while, even as Eliot goes back to brushing and detangling. Eliot can see his mind racing, though, so he eventually prompts, "But…?"

"But also we might never figure it out and magic will be gone forever and so will we."

The last of Quentin's tangles breaks free, and Eliot has to appreciate the irony. He sets the brush aside again and maneuvers his knees on either side of Quentin's legs in the thankfully-large chair so that he can pull him close for a tight hug.

"Oh, Quentin," he says softly. "We're in this for the long haul now. Even if it takes our whole lives, we're going to solve this damn puzzle, because I've had enough prophecies and books with convenient references to know that _this is our quest_. And magic clearly wants us on its side." As if to prove his point, he does a quick tut to create colorful lights that dance around Quentin's face.

When the spell fades, Eliot asks Quentin to do some magic for him. Quentin is resistant at first, which Eliot honestly expected. "Hang on," Eliot says, "I've got something for you."

He goes to their extra, unused bed and grabs the package he'd stashed under the mattress. "Now, obviously if you don't feel like it I'm not going to pressure you, but I think this might change your mind."

Quentin looks curious as he plucks the ribbon off the box. Eliot watches the smile bloom across his face as he discovers the deck of cards, the inside of each with artwork hand-drawn by a Lorian merchant in the night market. Eliot had given away some copies of his better lyrics (poetry, as the merchant called it) in exchange. He definitely feels like he got the better end of the bargain.

Quentin is clearly thrilled, immediately beginning some basic card tricks. He works his way up from 'magic' to _magic_ , suitably impressing Eliot. His apparent delight is doing things to Eliot's insides, things which he refuses to put a name to.

After that, Quentin decides to take a nap, but not before kissing Eliot thoroughly and muttering his thanks. Eliot leaves him, only to discover Arielle waiting outside.

"Hey there," Eliot says, moving in for a hug. "Quentin is having a stay-inside day. He just went back to bed, but you're welcome to go in and stay with him if you'd like."

"No, I won't disturb him. I'll stay and keep you company out here for a while, if you like."

"Sure. I actually have an idea to run by you," he says, shuffling through his papers and laying out his latest idea. He gets to work explaining and simultaneously editing an idea he had regarding his music. It's Quentin's favorite song of his, and he's got this idea to adapt it to the puzzle. Arielle loves the idea and is happy to help with it.

He works and chatters inanely, and he can tell by the look on Arielle's face that he's talking too much, but if he stops and leaves himself alone with his thoughts for more than a minute, he's afraid of what's waiting for him. He feels like he's vibrating inside his skin, and words are hiding just inside his throat that he dare not give voice to.

Of course, Arielle sees through him and makes him face it. "Eliot, if you don't shut up and tell me what's actually on your mind I will cut off your wine supply for a month."

Eliot's mouth snaps shut, both at her tone and at the threat. He tries to come up with a lie, but the only sentence he can even think of is the one that he blurts out. "I love him so fucking much, Ari."

"Oh." She smiles. "Is that all?"

"Don't ' _is that all'_ me, this is kind of a big deal." His eyes dart toward the cottage, wanting to dip into the aforementioned wine supply, but he doesn't want to wake Quentin.

"Call me naive, but I really don't see why."

"Of course you don't," Eliot snaps, having to bite his tongue to keep from spitting out some undeserved and untrue insult in defense. He scribbles on a piece of paper until he tears a hole in it. With a sigh, he goes on, "Everyone I let myself feel something for ends up hurt or dead, and it always seems to be my fault."

"Oh, Eliot." She hugs him. "I'm sorry you've had to deal with so much pain."

Eliot doesn't respond because wasn't she listening? It's not his pain that's the problem. He does appreciate the hug, though.

"As someone who also cares for Quentin, I'm glad you don't want to hurt him. But Quentin is, as you say, 'crazy about you,' and you're only going to hurt him more by hiding the way you feel."

"Shit," Eliot says, because she's probably right. He sits down heavily and lets his head fall onto the table. Arielle rubs her hand over his back. He turns to her, asking, "I don't suppose you could tell him for me?"

"Not a chance."

He thinks about what Margo would do, and he can practically hear her telling him to 'ovary up.' He sits up in the chair. "Okay. Fine. But I'm not doing it today. Don't give me that look! Today's a bad day. If I tell him today he won't believe me, he'll just think I'm saying it because he's sick."

Arielle hums. "You don't know that, but… fair enough. And you won't have that excuse forever."

"I know," he acknowledges. "Now help me get these tiles down so we can show them off to Q when he wakes up."

***

Eliot's surprised to find not much changes once he admits to himself that he loves Quentin. Has loved Quentin, possibly for a long time. Really it just gives clarity to the funny feeling he gets in his chest when he watches Quentin geek out about something, or when he sees Quentin compulsively reach to tuck back a lock of hair that isn't loose, or when they're having sex and there's this intensity to it that he's never felt before.

It makes him a little terrified to think about what happens when they solve the puzzle, but he tries not to think about that. He's gone twenty six years of his life successfully ignoring his future; it's a finely-honed skill at this point.

He finds himself on an upswing of motivation when it comes to working on the mosaic, and as Quentin gets through his rough patch, he starts to match him idea for idea until they're back in the swing of things.

One sunny afternoon finds them collaborating on a new piece, one that is shaping up to be a good contender, but Eliot can't quite agree with Quentin on background coloring.

"Look, I don’t see why we can’t use these yellows here, they totally make sense."

Quentin shoots him an exasperated look. "Okay, first of all, they’re not yellow, they’re more like gold."

"What the fuck difference does it make?"

“Yellow is just, like, a color, by itself, bland. Gold is more, the sun, shining through the forest, or like, your eyes reflecting the light of a fire.” He sweeps a hand through his hair. "Fuck, that was a stupid thing to say."

"Q."

"I'm just saying, you can’t just use them as filler, they’re important.”

" _Quentin_ ," Eliot tries again, a laugh escaping him in the word.

"What," Quentin says, defeated.

"Two very important things," he says, stopping to pick up a single yellow tile. He moves into Quentin's personal space and holds up the tile, but lets the dramatic pause hang in the air until Quentin's eyes shift from the tile to Eliot. 

Eliot's not sure what his own face is doing, but it makes Quentin's expression shift from exasperation to a cautious sincerity. "One, I love you. Wild theories and all."

Quentin's mouth falls open and he sways forward a little, until Eliot catches his elbow with his free hand and he settles on his feet.

"And two, this is fucking yellow."

A laugh bubbles out of Quentin so loud that it's clearly caught him by surprise. He does lose his balance then, leaning hard on Eliot's chest as he laughs. Eliot tosses the tile carefully into the surrounding grass so that he can wrap his arms around Quentin and take his weight.

When Quentin looks up, still shaking with laughter, he's got tears in his eyes. "Fuck, I love you too," Quentin says, surging up to kiss him.

"Okay, I hadn't exactly imagined you crying when I pictured telling you I loved you," Eliot says, wiping tears from Quentin's cheeks.

"They're happy tears," Quentin assures him, as if his huge smile didn't give it away.

"Yeah? You're not totally devastated by my confession?"

"Hang on," Quentin says, eyes narrowing. He's still leaning most of his weight against Eliot and honestly Eliot could stand like this all day. "You pictured telling me. Did you practice in front of the mirror while I was out with Ari?"

"No," Eliot says indignantly. Quentin stares into his eyes as if searching for the real answer. Finally, Eliot breaks. "I went down to the stream and acted it out, y'know, like a real man."

Quentin's laugh is so beautiful that Eliot has to kiss him again.

"Thank you," Eliot says an indeterminate number of minutes later, "for being patient with me."

"Of course."

"Now can I please use yellows in this background to see if we've unlocked the beauty of all life?"

They haven't, as it turns out, but Eliot's pretty sure they're well on their way.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://mixtapestar.tumblr.com), or come follow my [Quentin/Eliot tumblr](https://proofofconcept.tumblr.com)! Submissions welcome!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] stop worrying and love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25713361) by [thoughtsappear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsappear/pseuds/thoughtsappear)




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